Why K. Matlala Was Moved in the Dead of Night: What the State Isn’t Saying
On the night of 21 December 2025, while most of South Africa slept, a highly unusual prison transfer took place.
K.Matlala, one of the country’s most controversial and high-profile detainees, was quietly removed from Kgosi Mampuru II Maximum Correctional Centre in Pretoria and transported more than 300 kilometers away to Ebongweni Super Maximum Prison in KwaZulu-Natal.
The transfer happened under cover of darkness, without prior public notice, and with minimal explanation afterward.
Officially, the Department of Correctional Services (DCS) described the move as routine.
They urged the public not to read too much into it.
But the facts suggest otherwise.
Because nothing about this transfer was routine.
A Transfer Wrapped in Silence
When pressed for clarity, Correctional Services added only one vague justification: “security concerns.
” No further details were provided.
No timelines were disclosed.
No explanation was given as to why those concerns suddenly escalated in late December, or why they necessitated moving Matlala from one of the country’s most secure prisons to its most restrictive one.
That single phrase—security concerns—raises far more questions than it answers.
What exactly were those concerns?
Who posed the threat?
And was the danger coming from outside the prison walls… or from within them?
To understand why this transfer matters, one must look closely at what unfolded after Matlala arrived at Kgosi Mampuru—and what authorities quietly discovered there.
The Cellphone That Should Never Have Existed
Shortly after Matlala’s arrival at Kgosi Mampuru, correctional officials made a discovery that immediately set off alarm bells.
During a raid conducted by Correctional Services, Matlala was found in possession of a cellphone.
Not only did he have the device—investigations later revealed that he was actively receiving and making calls from it.
This was not a minor infraction.
Kgosi Mampuru is a maximum-security facility designed to isolate some of the most dangerous inmates in South Africa.
Access to communication devices is tightly controlled.
The presence of a cellphone inside such a facility—especially in the hands of a detainee of Matlala’s profile—is not just suspicious.
It is explosive.
The obvious question follows: How did a prisoner of this status obtain a cellphone inside one of the country’s most secure prisons?
The “Unnamed Inmate” and Another Red Flag
Matlala’s explanation only deepened the mystery.
He allegedly told authorities that the cellphone had been given to him by another inmate, whose name was never disclosed publicly.
That unnamed inmate, according to available information, has since been released on bail.
This detail alone raises a cascade of red flags.
An unnamed individual, allegedly able to pass contraband to a high-risk prisoner, then released from custody?
No accountability?
No transparency?
For a system already battling perceptions of corruption and compromise, this episode only intensified suspicion.
Kgosi Mampuru: Not Just Any Prison
To grasp the seriousness of this breach, it is crucial to understand where it happened.
Kgosi Mampuru is not an ordinary correctional facility.
It houses some of the most notorious criminals in the country, including individuals linked to violent crimes, organized syndicates, and high-profile corruption.
Among its inmates is Thabo Bester, one of the most infamous criminals in recent South African history.
This is a facility designed to sever inmates from the outside world—not facilitate communication with it.
Yet somehow, Matlala managed to remain connected.
Why That Connection Matters
This is not merely a case of prison rule-breaking.
The concern is who Matlala is and what he represents.
Matlala has been repeatedly identified as part of what has been referred to as the “Big Five” cartel network, exposed during the Mpati Commission of Inquiry.
According to testimony and evidence presented there, this network wielded enormous influence—financial, political, and institutional.
Matlala was described as a man who:
Had access to senior politicians and ministers
Bribed public officials
Played a role in undermining the Political Killings Task Team
Operated within multi-million-rand criminal enterprises
This was not a low-level operative.
This was a power broker.
For someone like Matlala, communication is not a luxury—it is a weapon.
The Risk the State Could Not Ignore
The presence of a cellphone inside Kgosi Mampuru meant that Matlala was potentially able to:
Coordinate criminal activities from behind bars
Influence witnesses
Interfere with investigations
Communicate with political or criminal allies
Endanger his own safety by exposing sensitive information
At that point, the state faced a dilemma.
If Matlala could communicate from inside a maximum-security prison, then the system had failed to sever the umbilical cord linking him to the outside criminal world.
And that cord needed to be cut—completely.
Why Ebongweni Was the Only Option
This is where Ebongweni Super Maximum Prison enters the picture.
Ebongweni is not just more secure—it is categorically different from other facilities in South Africa.
Established in 2002, Ebongweni is designed for inmates who pose extreme risks to:
National security
Institutional integrity
Their own safety
The safety of others
Its conditions are uncompromising:
23 hours a day in solitary confinement
One hour of controlled exercise
No interaction with other inmates
Strict monitoring
Near-total isolation from the outside world
Since its establishment, Ebongweni has not recorded a single successful escape.
Even individuals who have attempted to escape—reportedly including Matlala himself—have failed.
Moving Matlala there was not about convenience.
It was about containment.
A Pattern of Extreme Caution
This was not the first time authorities demonstrated extraordinary concern over Matlala’s security profile.
During the Mpati Commission hearings, Correctional Services refused to transport Matlala out of prison, citing unacceptable risks.
Instead, the commission was forced to conduct its hearings inside Kgosi Mampuru itself.
That decision alone spoke volumes.
When a state deems it too dangerous to move a witness—even under heavy guard—that witness is no ordinary detainee.
Why the Threat Cuts Both Ways
There is another dimension to this transfer that cannot be ignored.
Matlala is not only seen as a potential threat.
He is also deeply vulnerable.
By his own testimony, Matlala has “spilled the beans” on multiple high-level scandals, including:
The R360 million hospital corruption scandal
Allegations involving former police minister Bheki Cele
Links between politicians, police officers, and criminal syndicates
In doing so, he has made powerful enemies.
The state must now protect him not only from escaping or communicating—but potentially from being silenced.
Isolation at Ebongweni serves both purposes:
It prevents him from exerting influence, and it reduces opportunities for retaliation.
Why “Routine” Doesn’t Add Up
Correctional Services insists the transfer was routine.
Yet every surrounding fact contradicts that claim:
The nighttime execution
The cellphone scandal
The unnamed inmate
The history of extreme security measures
The decision to move him to the country’s most restrictive prison
Routine transfers do not involve this level of secrecy or consequence.
This was a containment operation, not administrative housekeeping.
What This Move Really Signals
At its core, this transfer reveals something unsettling:
The state believes Matlala is still dangerous—even behind bars.
Dangerous not with weapons, but with information, influence, and networks.
Facilities like Kgosi Mampuru, for all their security, failed to completely neutralize that threat.
Ebongweni is designed to do exactly that.
By cutting Matlala off entirely—socially, digitally, and physically—the state is attempting to regain control.
The Bigger Picture
This case exposes uncomfortable truths about South Africa’s correctional system:
How contraband enters high-security prisons
How influence persists beyond incarceration
How deeply criminal networks penetrate state institutions
Matlala’s transfer is not just about one man.
It is a reflection of how fragile institutional control can become when powerful criminal figures are involved.
Final Thoughts
K.Matlala was moved because the system could no longer manage him where he was.
He was moved because he still had a voice—and that voice carried power.
He was moved because someone, somewhere, realized too late that maximum security was not enough.
Ebongweni is not punishment.
It is containment.
And it is a silent admission that the state is still playing catch-up with the very networks Matlala once controlled.
